


Niemöller, or Four Times When Harry Didn't Speak Up and then When He Finally Did

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-09
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They came, and they came, and one day Harry noticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Niemöller, or Four Times When Harry Didn't Speak Up and then When He Finally Did

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story I wrote for the Snarry-A-Thon 2010.
> 
> I owe so much to my beta readers, Shoshanna, Ro, Eeyore, and batdina, who helped me find my way through and out of more than one wrong turn. As for the prompt — For some reason or other, Harry takes the Dark Mark. How would Snape fit in all that? — I used its spirit if not its exact letters. The title, for the curious or those who require warnings, comes from this: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came...>.

When it was all over, and Harry looked back, he could see all the warning signs, laid out on a path that led directly to rebellion. But in the moment when each event happened to him, to his family, his friends, and even strangers, he hadn't been able to see the larger picture or understand that each was merely one among an accumulation of hundreds and possibly thousands that could only lead down one well-trampled road.

But as he travelled it, he didn't recognise the pivotal moments for what they were until it was almost too late.

*

**One**

At the age of thirty, after his divorce from Ginny Weasley Potter became final, Harry retired from the Aurors. Oh, he called it a Sabbatical, but he was done. Nothing and no one could force him to return to the pit of manipulation and backstabbing and ambition and fluttering red memos that some people called the Ministry of Magic.

He wanted peace and quiet. He wanted to spend time with his children. He wanted to get to know himself. And, most importantly, at least as far as he was concerned, he wanted to learn how to carve the furniture and chess sets and figures that haunted his imagination and set his fingers twitching in search of woodcarving blades.

One Sunday afternoon when the kids were at the Burrow with all the other Weasley grandchildren for the annual Grandma and Grandpa Weekend, he was perched on a stool in the studio he'd created from Ginny's potting shed, grinning like a loon. His forty-third attempt at creating an Animagus Queen for his experimental chess set had worked. She stood, she crouched, she tossed her hair, and she transformed into a doe to prance around the board.

"Harry, you out here?" Ron's voice sounded odd, unfamiliar even, as it cracked on each word, exposing a hoarseness that made Harry wonder, briefly, if he were sick.

But then Ron opened the door, and Harry saw his blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulders. "What's wrong?" he asked, clamping down on his not-unreasonable fears, reminding himself that his kids were safe with their grandparents.

Ron sagged back against the doorjamb. His mouth opened and then closed again, but he didn't say anything.

"Ron?"

Long seconds passed as Harry put down his knife and got to his feet. Then Ron said, sounding completely bewildered, "She's gone."

Harry stared at him. _She_ could be a hundred women and girls, but there were only a few who really mattered. "Ron," he repeated, trying to keep his voice steady, clenching his hands into fists to prevent himself from grabbing Ron's shirt and shaking the words out of him, "who's gone?"

The answer was mumbled, the name broken into pieces along with whatever had shattered inside Ron, but it was clearly, "Hermione." Just as Harry was about to break himself, imagining what could have happened to his other best friend, Ron continued with, "She's gone and left me."

There was more, of course, but none of it really made any sense to Harry. He knew that Ron was a bit thick and lacking in the empathy department. However, he was baffled by Hermione's assertion, as repeated (and likely mangled) by Ron that simply being a Pureblood meant Ron couldn't understand the challenges of being a Muggleborn in the Wizarding World, and had as little understanding of why that meant Hermione couldn't stay married to Ron.

.o0O0o.

Hermione opened the door before he could knock. "I knew you'd come," she said, stepping back to let him in.

"Ron," began Harry as they entered the sitting room but then, seeing her expression close down and her smile disappear, he hesitated. If it had been anyone else, he would have kept his nose out of it, but these were his best friends, and he wanted them to stay that way.

"Did you think we'd stay together?" She gestured him towards the sofa and went to sit down in a cushioned rocking chair. Her mouth twisted as she continued, "Were we supposed to be childhood sweethearts? Married till death parted us? Like you and Ginny?"

The bitterness in her voice stole away the speech that Harry had rehearsed; the one he'd been sure would convince her to try one more time. "I just thought that maybe you could talk."

"Oh, we've talked, until we were blue in the face, for all the good it did." A swish of her wand brought a tray sailing in from the kitchen. Tea and chocolate biscuits in a formal setting that made Harry's heart sink at the realisation that he was being treated like a guest rather than family.

Still, he tried again — and snagged a couple of white chocolate digestives because he wasn't stupid enough to take that much offence. "Ron said something about you being upset because he's a Pureblood?"

"Not everything's about his blood status. If he could understand that—" She sighed. "Well, he can't and that's all there is to it."

To hide his confusion, Harry took a too-large bite of biscuit and washed it down with a bit too much tea.

Hermione, as always, seemed to understand what he hadn't said. "There's nothing left to discuss," she said. "And, honestly, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you, of all people, would understand how I feel. But here you are, taking his side."

Or maybe not. "I'm not taking sides."

She smiled and looked sad at the same time. "Of course you are. But I suppose that being Harry Potter makes all the difference in the Wizarding world."

Then she changed the subject, and they talked until their cups were empty. She promised to give him her new address when she moved out of her parents' house. Although he knew, even as he hugged her, that she wouldn't and that it really was goodbye.

.o0O0o.

And so, he did nothing...

Except go home and join Ron, sitting down in a comfortable chair next to the drinks cabinet, with bags of crisps and tins of biscuits, tea and Firewhisky, and a Chudley Cannons game on Wizarding telly.

Six months later, when Hermione moved in with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and they started the Magical Reform Party, Harry simply shook his head and muttered about politics and strange bedfellows. That he sent in his formal resignation to the Aurors, officially ending his Sabbatical and starting his retirement, the day after the Wizengamot appointed Finch-Fletchley Minister for Magic was completely unrelated. Of that one thing, he was sure.

He touched the faded lightning bolt on his forehead and told himself that all was still well. He was simply protecting his own. That was all.

*

**Two**

The day after his thirty-first birthday, Harry gave himself a present. One that he hoped would last a lifetime. He summoned every last bit of his courage, wrapped it around himself like armour, and asked Severus Snape out on a date. To his unending surprise, Severus accepted without a hint of sarcasm or a single insult.

At half past six on the next night, Harry Apparated to the path that led up to Severus's terrace home. It was in one of the new cul-de-sacs that had been built in the area around Diagon Alley. Homes made of brick and daubed with bright paint. Each with its own postage stamp sized front garden, providing just enough room for a display of roses (as at numbers 8, 10, and 12), a sitting area made opaque and barely visible by privacy spells (numbers 7 and 16).

Number 19, on the end, where Severus lived, was the exception with its dark green paint and garden that wrapped around the side, providing more than enough room for the carefully tended beds of herbs, flowers, and other plants that Harry assumed were used as ingredients in the paints that Severus created and sold. In this post-war world, having the gift of a life that belonged to no one but himself, Severus had quit teaching and rejected innumerable offers to join potions firms or start his own. Instead, he opened The Colour Wheel and began making paints and other potions required for the Wizarding arts. That, of course, had nothing to do with Harry's new career as an artist.

They had reservations at seven o'clock for Métis, the newest restaurant on Diagon Alley. Severus wore black, but there was bronze brocade at the cuffs to emphasise the length and elegance of his hands, as if he knew without having to ask what Harry liked.

Terry Boot greeted them at the front, tossing their cloaks at the cloak check before whisking them past the obsequiously offended maitre d' and the clumps of people waiting their turn with various degrees of patience. Their table was at the back, in front of one of the full-length windows that provided a glorious view of the waves crashing against cliffs that Harry didn't recognise.

"Mendocino, California," Terry said, before either Harry or Severus could ask. "Bringing a little of the new world to the old. It's part of our metaphor."

As Terry walked away, Harry turned to Severus and asked, "Metaphor? I thought restaurants were all about the food."

"We can only hope," Severus said, opening the menu. He scanned its contents and then smirked. "Ah, more metaphor."

"Meta...?" Harry looked down at his own menu and stared in confusion. "Gingko Nut Chicken Curry with Risotto? Thai Spiced Scottish Salmon with Mango and Cilantro... _Froth_?" He stumbled over the last word as he tried to work out what froth was doing on his dinner. "What kind of... I don't even know where to begin."

"Expecting steak and kidney pie with treacle tart for afters?" The amusement that glinted in Severus's eyes stifled Harry's instinct to defend himself.

"Not exactly, although I wouldn't have minded that," he admitted, then his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Metaphor, huh?"

"Clashes and blends of different cultures and countries, if I were to hazard a guess." Severus lowered his voice. "Even the flowers are hybrids."

Unable to stop himself, Harry turned to look at the trellis behind him. Every bloom was a combination of colours he didn't remember seeing before: variegated orange and yellow roses, spikes of belled flowers that shaded from bright yellows to a muted gold. "That's..." he floundered.

"Odd? Strange? Not quite natural?"

"Yeah, at the very least."

In the end, Harry let Severus order for both of them. His beef something-or-other was wonderful, and Severus's beef whatever-it-was tasted even better. They finished with cappuccinos and ginger crème brulée.

"The other day..." After a brief pause while Harry signed the chit that allowed the restaurant to debit the cost from his Gringotts' account, Severus continued with, "You offered to show me your studio."

"We could do that tonight, if you'd like." Harry placed his hand on the table, palm up, and smiled when Severus placed his on top. Something that felt very much like hope lodged in Harry's breastbone. "I've just finished an Animagus chess set, and I'd love to know what you think."

"Animagus?" Interest was clear in Severus's tone.

"Each piece has its own Animagus form, and it changes back and forth during the game." As they walked towards the door to get their cloaks, Severus prompted Harry to describe each piece in loving detail. They were standing in front of the cloak check, deep in a discussion about the possibility of developing charms that would allow the players to determine which moves would prompt the pieces to transform, when a strident voice interrupted them.

"But I had a reservation," Lavender Brown was leaning over the maitre d's podium, obviously angry. "I even called this afternoon to make sure. Brown for three people at half past eight. We've been waiting for almost an hour, and this is the first time you've so much as mentioned that my name wasn't in your book."

"Don't worry about it, Lav. Krishna's is still open. We can get some curry." A red flush stained Neville Longbottom's cheeks as he plucked at Lavender's sleeve. Hannah Abbott was standing next to him, looking as if she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.

"That's not the point, is it? I had a reservation, I confirmed it, and now they're tossing us out without a word of apology or explanation. That's not on."

Harry was just considering going over to see if he could help when Terry came through from the restaurant to see what was happening. Assuming that he would take care of the problem, Harry turned away and accepted his cloak from the attendant. He was handing Severus his cloak when a woman behind them muttered, "Bloody purebloods. Always think they're entitled to special privileges."

"Something ought to be done about them," a man said in response.

Exchanging a glance with an equally troubled Severus, Harry swung around but couldn't identify who had spoken. Several people were nodding their heads in agreement and whispering, which didn't reassure him at all.

.o0O0o.

Still, he did nothing...

Except check to make sure that Terry knew that it was _his_ friends the restaurant was messing with. By the time he took Severus's arm and left the restaurant, Terry was escorting them personally to a table.

Then, after a tour of his studio, a couple of brandies, and a crushing defeat at chess, Severus kissed him and every other memory of that night was lost in the feeling of Severus's thin lips on his, Severus's long-fingered, strong hands on his arse, and Severus's body pressed against his.

This was something he would fight to keep, Harry thought, as he fell asleep next to Severus with his forehead resting on his hand.

*

**Three**

Severus didn't laugh, not in Harry's experience. He chuckled, he snickered, he occasionally snorted with amusement, and he frequently smirked. It wasn't until after Severus moved in with him that Harry heard Severus laugh for the first time. The deep, rasping sound went directly to Harry's cock and woke him up faster than his coffee.

_Happy thirty-fourth birthday to me_, Harry thought before asking, "Severus?"

"Those imbeciles at the _Prophet_ have changed their minds about me yet again." Severus held the paper up for Harry to see the headline. "Apparently, I am to be your Saviour."

After blinking a couple of times, Harry was able to make sense of the words flashing off the page (in a gyrating pattern of Gryffindor red and Slytherin green, no less): _Can Half-Blood Hero Save Boy Who Lived From Loneliness?_

Harry grinned. "You know, one of these days, they're going to admit that I'm a man in his thirties, and half the British Wizarding World is going to keel over in shock."

"A man, hmmm?" The tip of Severus's tongue peeked out from between his lips as he pushed his chair back from the table. "How is a wizard supposed to tell?"

"Oh, it's not that difficult," said Harry, getting up and sauntering around to stand in front of Severus.

"I beg to differ." Severus reached out and placed a hand on Harry's pyjamas, directly over his cock. "I believe it's very hard."

Shocked by the horrible pun, Harry flicked his gaze up from the drape of Severus's open dressing gown and met Severus's eyes. "That was," Harry started, then stopped because he really didn't know what to say.

"Indeed," Severus agreed. "Perhaps we should pretend I never said it and move on to the next stage?"

"The next—"

Before he could finish, Severus had drawn Harry into his lap. Harry leaned his head back, exposing his neck, as Severus pressed long fingers into the cleft of his arse. Harry rocked his hips, back and forth and dug his hands into Severus's hair and encouraged him to kiss, suck, and lick his neck.

"Do you want something, Harry?" Severus murmured against his skin, sparking Harry's arousal.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes."

A twist of Severus's fingers had Harry almost toppling backwards as he attempted to impale himself on them. "And what would that be?"

"You." Harry ground downwards, hissing when Severus's hips thrust upwards and their cocks rubbed against each other. His need rising, he didn't want to wait, didn't want to take the time to Summon his wand or move far enough away to undress. Instead, he let go of Severus's hair, slipped his hands between them, pushing and shoving at their clothing until he had both of their cocks in his hands and was pulling, tugging, twisting. Rough movements, made rougher by using precome for lube, but it was enough to send them both over the edge, spiralling down, panting into each other's mouths as first Harry and then Severus came over Harry's hands and their clothes.

The Floo roared and clattered. Ron spilled out onto the kitchen floor at Severus's feet. "Harry!"

"Did no one ever teach you to knock before barging into someone else's home?" Severus wrapped his arms and his dressing gown around Harry.

Ron shook his head but didn't say anything. His eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. His freckles stood out against skin that was paler than usual.

"Severus," Harry murmured, worry rising in him, even more urgent than his need of mere minutes earlier.

"In my pocket." A tap against Harry's hip and Severus whispered a few words that cleaned them both up.

Harry squeezed Severus's hand in thanks and joined Ron on the floor. "What's wrong?"

"Ginny," Ron managed. "It's Gin."

Cold fear prickled down Harry's spine and had him clutching at Ron's shoulders. "Tell me."

"She's gone. Just like that." Ron attempted to snap his fingers but failed.

"Gone? Where?" Sinking back, Harry stared at Ron and tried to make sense of what he'd just heard.

"I believe he's trying to tell you that she's dead." Severus's voice was gentler than Harry had ever heard it.

He glanced from Ron, who had tears running down his face, to Severus and back again. There should be words, Harry thought. He should say something, but he could only look from one to the other.

After a few minutes or seconds or maybe hours, Severus helped them both up from the floor, made them tea, got Harry upstairs and dressed, and then Side-Along Apparated them to the Burrow where Harry's family (and the Aurors) waited.

While the Aurors explained what had happened, Harry sat on a sofa with James, Albus, and Lily all snuggling into him and each other, and Severus seated on a chair behind him, keeping a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

It was an accident, they said. She'd been shopping in Hogsmeade and got caught up in a protest against the Pureblood Machine. Not the only casualty; just the only death.

.o0O0o.

And so, Harry did nothing...

Except take care of his family, console his in-laws, arrange for a funeral, bury himself in his workshop, and make toys for his children.

Until Arthur Weasley came back from the Ministry one Friday afternoon, looking as if he'd aged a decade since leaving for work that morning.

"They sacked me," Arthur said, sinking into his chair by the fire. "After all those years, they say I'm not qualified for my own job. And it's not just me, either. They've replaced every Pureblood in every Muggle-related department with a bunch of kids whose only qualifications are that they grew up in the Muggle world."

When the others tried to comfort him, Arthur added, "I'm one of the lucky ones, since I have enough seniority to qualify for a pension. I don't know what some of the others are going to do. Wrenwith's wife just had twins."

A small kernel of anger came to life inside Harry. How could they do _that_ to _his_ father-in-law? He scrubbed at his forehead and began to worry.

*

**Four**

On a dull, dark Thursday the following February, Harry was called to the Head Teacher's office at his seven-year-old daughter's school. He was sitting on the other side of her desk, having turned down the bowl of sweets and accepted a cup of tea, feeling a bit like he was the one in trouble. Trying to shake it off, he turned and looked at Lily.

"I didn't do anything." She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why don't you let Miss MacDougal finish?" Harry resisted the urge to scowl back at her. "And then we can talk about whether or not you've done something wrong."

"_Fine_," Lily bounced on her toes for emphasis.

"This afternoon, your daughter was caught with this—" Morag MacDougal placed a wand on the desk in front of her "—hidden in her uniform. Normally, we would have simply confiscated the wand, but Cassie Cornfoot and Filomena Zabini were hexed with fulminating pustules on the playground this morning."

"It wasn't me," muttered Lily.

"May I?" At Morag's nod, Harry picked up the wand and ran his hand over the familiar dark wood. "This was her mother's wand," he explained. He frowned at Lily; they'd have a talk about just how Lily had retrieved the wand from its locked drawer later.

"I see." Morag sighed. "We'd like your permission to cast _Priori Incantato_ on it. Just to verify Lily's story, of course."

"It's not a story," Lily yelled. "And you're just a stupid _pedi_ like them. You can't tell me what to do."

"Lily!" Her name burst out of Harry's mouth, and he could only hope that his voice held more reprimand than shock. He glanced over at Morag, who seemed stunned — the colour had drained from her face and the vertical line between her eyebrows had deepened. Lily, on the other hand, had raised her chin and stuck out her lower lip, showing her defiance exactly the same way Ginny had.

"I'll deal with this," he told Morag. "Lily will not be doing anything like this again." He tapped Ginny's wand against the palm of his hand. He could hear Lily draw in a breath, but thankfully, she remained silent.

When Morag looked as if she'd argue, Harry added, "If it turns out that she cast those hexes, I'll let you know. She will not get away with it."

Visibly collecting herself as she stood, Morag gave him a short nod of agreement and held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr Potter. We can't encourage this kind of behaviour in our children."

"I'd say it was my pleasure, but—" He got up to shake her hand and then reached for Lily's. After a brief resistance, she allowed him to unlock her arms and take her hand.

"I understand," Morag said.

"Assuming the _Priori Incantato_ proves Lily is telling the truth, she will be back at school on Monday and you will receive a report of my findings. If not, I will contact your secretary for an appointment so we can discuss an appropriate punishment."

.o0O0o.

By the time he'd Apparated them home, Lily was dragging her feet. He pulled her into the living room and directed her to the sofa. Locking charms on the doors ensured privacy. He'd talk to all of his kids later, but first he needed to deal with Lily.

The word she'd used was still spinning through his mind, clicking past each time he'd heard it thrown at someone or used in casual conversation or tossed around by Ministry flunkies — pedi, pedigree, Pureblood. Just as bad, as far as Harry was concerned, as calling someone a Mudblood. And he wouldn't put up with it from his kids.

Without taking his eyes off Lily, he retrieved his own wand from its holster and touched the tips of the wands together. Lily's chin firmed and went up again, attempting to look defiant although her mouth was wobbling and her eyes were filled with tears.

"_Priori Incantato per_ Lily Luna Potter," Harry whispered. A wisp of smoke erupted from the wand tips, twisted in place and became a peek-a-boo kneazle.

"I just wanted to show Mandy the trick so she could play with her baby brother, that's all. I didn't hex those girls. I didn't."

Harry Banished Ginny's wand to the safe in his studio before going over to kneel in front of Lily. "But you did call those girls names and you did insult your teacher."

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Lily flung herself off the sofa and into his lap, sliding her arms around his neck. Her tears soaked into the collar of his robes.

Comforting Lily felt wrong, but she was crying and she was his little girl, and he couldn't just sit here and ignore her. He began to rub small circles on her back, awkwardly at first, and muttered, "I'm sure you are."

When the storm had passed and she'd calmed down, Harry resettled both of them. He shrugged off his robes and sat down with his legs crossed loosely in front of him. Lily sat in front of him, tucking her feet under his.

"When I was a kid, not much older than you—" he almost bit his tongue in his haste not to continue along that path, but there really wasn't any other way of doing it. "The bad words were aimed at Muggleborns. My friend Hermione," he paused to allow the ache of losing her friendship to subside again before continuing, "and other kids I knew used to get called names because they had Muggle parents."

"But Muggleborns aren't bad, Daddy, not like Purebloods."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, strangling his anger before it drove him to say something he'd regret. "Why do you think Purebloods are bad?"

"Well, because they are. Everybody knows it."

"I want a reason, Lily Luna. Just one reason."

"Because..." She stretched out the last syllable, her eyes almost crossing as she thought. "Because they're evil and they hurt people and they tried to kill you in the last war and they helped Voldemort."

Fighting to keep his voice calm, Harry asked, "All Purebloods, are you sure?

She nodded emphatically. "Every last one of them."

"Even your Grandpa?" Harry tapped her left knee. "And your Grandma?" He tapped her right knee. "And your Uncle Ron?"

"Not them." She shook her head, sending her plaits flying. "Don't be a silly billy."

"But they're Purebloods. Just like your Uncle Charlie and Uncle Bill and Uncle Draco."

"_No_," Lily yelled. "They're not. You're lying."

His heart aching just a little, Harry pulled her hands away from her ears and held on to them. "Yes, they are, Lily love, and so was your Mummy."

Her breath hitched in a painful-sounding sob. "Mummy wasn't evil."

"Most people aren't, love." The rest of the lecture that Harry was going to give her disappeared when she burrowed into his chest and started crying in earnest and saying she was sorry, over and over again.

.o0O0o.

And Harry could do nothing...

Except hug and comfort his daughter. And then, after Severus came home and they'd had a chance to discuss what had happened, the two of them had a talk with all three kids. About what it meant to call people names, about the differences between the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds, and about the reasons why Harry had been forced to fight a war.

He couldn't forget what he'd learned, though, nor did he even attempt to control the righteous anger that was growing inside him. Things had gone so wrong, and he hadn't even noticed.

Each morning, he read the _Prophet_ and every other British Wizarding and Muggle paper from cover to cover. Hidden in the back pages, usually between the Agony Aunt column and the Legal Notices section, were stories that should have been in the front sections, prominently displayed amongst the other news stories if not on the front page. Assaults, rapes, robberies, and accidental deaths, all of them against Purebloods and those few witches and wizards who'd publicly opposed Minister Finch-Fletchley's pro-Muggleborn reforms.

He and Severus tried talking to people, giving interviews to every paper and magazine in the Wizarding World, lobbying the Wizengamot and the Ministry, but nothing seemed to work. Public opinion swayed back and forth, but it always returned to Finch-Fletchley's agenda, as if to a lodestone. They kept trying, though.

Until the Wizengamot, by an unheard-of unanimous vote, extended Finch-Fletchley's term for twenty-five years, renewable at his discretion rather than theirs. On hearing the news, Harry threw a temper tantrum that destroyed every piece of glass and other breakable object in the house and blasted his latest project, a Quidditch chess set with flying players, to splinters. When he was done, Severus sat him down and told him he was damn well old enough to stop reacting and start thinking.

Harry dug the heel of his hand into the faded scar on his forehead, trying to push out the headache that never seemed to go away, and decided to try one last time.

*

**Five**

"Honestly, Harry, I'd think that you, of all people, would want to help," Justin Finch-Fletchley bared his teeth at Harry in the professional smile that graced the front pages of the _Prophet_ almost every week. "After everything we, and especially you, went through in the war."

"The war's been over for decades," Harry replied, using every ounce of his hard-won self-control to stop himself from leaping over the Minister's desk and strangling him. "Targeting the Purebloods is hardly going to fix anything."

"Targeting... Oh, dear, is that what we're being accused of?" Finch-Fletchley shook his head and tutted, widening his eyes in an attempt at innocence. He rubbed a thumb along the spine of the Chihuahua that Harry and Severus had presented to him when they'd arrived.

Harry had carved the little dog from Whomping Willow wood to a chorus of sarcastic, funny, and sadly true comments about what Finch-Fletchley's Patronus said about him. At least Severus had managed to keep them to himself when Finch-Fletchley had accepted the little dog, calling it his _Little Pikachu_, which was apparently his Patronus's name.

"So, the fact that all the Ministry employees you replaced were Purebloods was a coincidence?" Harry couldn't take his eyes off the way Finch-Fletchley was fondling the Chihuahua. The possessive gesture made him feel a bit sick and a lot like ripping the carving out of his hands. Then Severus's hand descended upon Harry's and squeezed, hard enough to turn Harry's attention away from the officious wanker on the other side of the desk.

"I believe, Minister Finch-Fletchley, that Harry is simply trying to ensure that everyone is treated equally. After all," Severus's voice took on the tone of someone sharing a confidence, "we want to solve any problems _before_ they become more than mere rumours, don't we?"

Pursing his lips, Finch-Fletchley said, "If you have heard any rumours of that type, it would behove you to relate them to the Aurors. After all, it wouldn't do to have two of the heroes of the last war dragged in for questioning, would it?"

Before Harry could say anything, Severus tightened his grip on Harry's hand and smirked at Finch-Fletchley. "Nothing we haven't read in the _Prophet_, I assure you, Minister."

"But if you did?"

"If we did," Harry gritted out, clenching his jaw against the pain in his crushed fingers, "we would definitely notify the Aurors. Severus and I are interested in living quietly these days and raising our children as far out of the public eye as we can."

Severus added, "Children are such a joy, don't you think? It's so important to ensure they are raised with the _right_ values."

As they'd agreed before leaving home, Harry moved from that comment into a discussion of their various children. Something that Finch-Fletchley apparently cared about deeply. Occasionally, Harry would see Severus's pocket twitch out of the corner of his eye and could only hope that Severus's activation of the surveillance spells embedded in the Chihuahua didn't set off any of the alarms that laced the Minister's office.

Harry only came close to losing his temper once, when Finch-Fletchley said, with a ridiculous amount of self-satisfaction, that he believed all children needed a stay-at-home mum like his Hermione. Harry had always assumed that she'd followed Finch-Fletchley into the Ministry and was working in the background somewhere. He'd never really taken the time to find out, though. Not after she'd chosen this wanker.

Putting what he was certain must be a vacuous smile on his face, Harry said, "I agree that children should have _someone_ with them when they're young. My kids were lucky enough to have Ginny and the entire Weasley family looking after them."

"Very lucky." Steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, Finch-Fletchley levelled his gaze on Harry. "It's a terrible thing when one's children are put at risk because their parents aren't up to the task of protecting them."

Harry was still struggling to come up with an appropriate answer to what was clearly a veiled threat, when Severus said, "Indeed, it is. That's why we would never leave our children with someone we didn't trust implicitly."

"That's good to know," Finch-Fletchley said, although his tone implied that it was anything but. After a few seconds when no one said anything, the little finger on his right hand made a miniscule twitch, and a box on his desk buzzed. He shifted in his chair and lowered his hands. "Well, gentleman, that's my next appointment. Should you need to talk to me in the future, you know where to find me."

Shaking Finch-Fletchley's hand in farewell and promising (without so much as crossing his fingers behind his back) to keep in touch, he couldn't help wondering if he should go talk to Hermione and offer her and her children a way out.

The next day, Minister Finch-Fletchley held a press conference to announce that the Ministry would be conducting a formal review of the Statute of Secrecy. He also talked about how proud he was of his brother, Jonathan, who'd been selected as his party's candidate for Prime Minister in the next Muggle election.

Hermione was sitting on the podium behind him, smiling and looking proud of her husband. Harry was glad to see her happy, even as he mourned his once-upon-a-time best friend.

.o0O0o.

After reading the news and seeing the pictures, Harry stomped out of the kitchen and down the stairs into Severus's potions lab. He tossed the papers at Severus — almost upending the experimental potion that Severus was working on — and announced that it was past time they stopped thinking and started doing.

Severus's smile was tight, and his nod was sharp and short, but his approval was unmistakable. He offered Harry a phial of pain relieving potion and massaged his temples, which went a long way to persuading Harry that it was possible to make it all well again.

*

**Six**

Working out what to do turned out to be more difficult than Harry had thought. He couldn't run for Minister for Magic; Finch-Fletchley had that tied up. One seat in the junior bench of the Wizengamot didn't carry sufficient power or influence. And, so, when every other attempt failed, he had no choice except to agree with the last option Severus presented to him.

At least that's what he told himself. Severus, on the other hand, didn't believe in allowing him the luxury of self-deception.

"You want it," Severus murmured in Harry's ear.

And he did. Harry stared into the mirror, forcing his eyes away from Severus's lips against his ear and up to his own forehead. His scar was only visible in certain lights, having faded after Voldemort's death, after the destruction of the Horcrux that Harry had carried for so many years. He hadn't realised how much he missed having that visible sign of the rightness of his actions.

A Mark would be his proof. His Mark. Not Voldemort's.

Severus licked the shell of Harry's ear, sending a shiver through him. "Making your _ Mark_ on the world."

Meeting Severus's eyes in the mirror, Harry smiled. "I thought I did that already."

"Did you? Finch-Fletchley and his ilk don't appear to think so. And his assiduous courting of public opinion means they take his word over yours these days."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He'd done nothing to stop them and now it was almost too late. But he couldn't just sit back and watch Finch-Fletchley succeed where Voldemort had failed. He couldn't.

Severus's hands slid down the bare skin of Harry's shoulders, over his biceps and around his elbows, to bracelet Harry's wrists. "It's magic and power and seduction."

And I want it, Harry thought. I want to be able to make people understand, to believe. Aloud, he said, "And you? After everything you went through."

Raising his hands, Severus crossed Harry's arms over his chest, and pulling Harry back against his body. The length of his cock pressed into Harry's arse. "Do you think me incapable of saying no? That I'd suggest it if I weren't willing?"

Harry shook his head, pressed his upper front teeth into his lower lip, and leaned his head on Severus's shoulder.

"It's power, Harry. Your power in us, our power in you. They won't be able to stand against us. We can _save_ everyone."

Severus kissed his forehead, tracing his lips and tongue over the faded lightning bolt, and Harry knew that Severus understood exactly how much Harry wanted this. And, quite possibly, understood why better than Harry ever could.

Freeing his wrists from Severus's grip, Harry turned in Severus's embrace and looped his arms around Severus's neck. Their kiss was slow and lazy and had Harry bucking into Severus's hips. The world, he decided, could wait just a couple more hours.

.o0O0o.

That night, after dropping Lily off at the Burrow to spend the night with Molly and making sure James and Al were safe at Hogwarts, Harry led Severus down a narrow passage from his studio. Their destination was a cave that he'd protected with concentric rings of wards, each more dangerous than the previous, blocking tracing and surveillance spells and controlling who could enter. Anyone not on Harry's very short list was redirected to another cave, one with an underground lake filled with Inferi and an entrance that looked out over the sea.

Resisting the urge to rush, to hurry forwards, Harry kept his paces measured and even. Packed earth muffled the sound of their footsteps, the wards continually sent odd echoes bouncing around them and distorted what little noise there was, but neither of them hesitated.

As he turned the second-to-last corner and the last thirty or so feet stretched in front of him, the middle perimeter of wards brushed his magic. A spark and an odd tingle, and then he could hear hushed voices from up ahead, as if his ears had popped or a door had been opened or a privacy spell ended.

And then they were passing through the innermost wards and entering the cave. The stone of the walls, floor, and ceiling was luminescent, bathing the space in a bluish-green light. But Harry didn't have eyes for that or any of the natural beauty of the cave that he and Ginny had spent months turning into a safe place for them and their children. All he could see were the people sitting on the padded benches and waiting for them: Arthur, Ron, George, Angelina, Lee, Seamus, Neville, Hannah, Lavender, Kingsley, Draco, and Narcissa. Members of the Order, members of Dumbledore's Army, and former Death Eaters. Purebloods, Muggleborns, Half-bloods. Muggle-raised, too, if he included himself. All of them ready to take one last desperate step to prevent whatever the Finch-Fletchleys were up to. Opinions on that differed, but they all agreed that it could only be bad for anyone who wasn't a Finch-Fletchley.

It was time, he thought, and his heart sped up in anticipation.

The others were quiet, solemn, their greetings limited to nods or quiet acknowledgements as Harry and Severus took their places on the unoccupied bench. As they'd agreed, Severus spoke first while Harry observed — in part because everyone would expect the opposite.

As usual, Severus dispensed with the formalities and launched right into the middle. "We still cannot determine what form this Mark will take. It's driven by the intent of the First Bearer. However, unlike my former Mark, we can now guarantee you that it will only be visible to those who bear it. No one outside our circle will be able to identify you as a member from the Mark."

Draco snorted and muttered, "What a concept," to a chorus of agreement.

"Indeed," said Severus, before anyone else could interrupt, although even he was smirking. "Now, before we continue, one more warning and one last chance to change your mind."

Severus paused, waiting until several people nodded their acknowledgement, then said, "There will be no spies, no double agents."

That statement had an effect. Most people looked thoughtful, Draco sneered, and Seamus and Lavender looked worried. Harry took mental notes and paid careful attention to everyone's reactions, because Severus wanted to examine them in a Pensieve later.

Ron was the only one to speak up. "Good idea, but how can you be sure? After all, you managed to spy on Voldemort and you had his Mark."

"If you give Severus a chance, I'm sure he'll explain." Arthur said, putting his hand on Ron's shoulder to keep him in his seat. "Right?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at Ron, his lips twisting briefly to show his displeasure. "The spell that creates the Mark includes both prevention and punishment. The details of how that happens," he shrugged, "will be most interesting to observe should any of you attempt deception."

"And if we want to leave?" Everyone looked at Neville. "We all know what happened to Death Eaters, like Regulus Black. Are we making a 'till death us do part' commitment?"

All gazes swung back to Severus. "We would prefer, obviously, that you are self-aware enough to bow out now. However, if you find yourself caught between Scylla and Charybdis—"

"Who?" Ron asked, and was echoed by a couple of others. Harry was proud of himself for not showing his ignorance quite that blatantly, although he was convinced Severus knew anyway.

"Rock and a hard place, stupid." Lee punched Ron in the shoulder. "Like Malfoy over there in your sixth year. What're you going to do if they threaten your mum, huh?"

Ron looked gobsmacked, and Draco seemed affronted. Probably at the thought of being compared to a Gryffindor, thought Harry, and sniggered.

When it became clear that Severus wasn't going to explain further, Harry said, "If you change your mind about bearing the Mark, or someone tries to force you to betray us by Veritaserum or any other means, your Mark will vanish, taking with it everything you know about our circle."

"You'll Obliviate us?" Kingsley sounded approving.

"Not exactly," Harry said. "More like your memories of this group are tied to your Mark and the Unbreakable Vow that's bound into it. If your Mark disappears, your memories of everything and everyone related to it will be Obliviated."

"Now, unless anyone is having second thoughts—" Severus pinned each person in turn with his gaze, and if he lingered a little longer on the Gryffindors than on the others, Harry didn't think anyone noticed but him "—it is time to begin."

Harry was unconscionably relieved when no one backed out. He'd lost one friend to Finch-Fletchley, he didn't want to lose another. But he would do it if necessary. Too much was at stake — again — and Harry was rubbish at ignoring something that was wrong once it had been brought to his attention. He had to do something.

.o0O0o.

Harry knelt before Severus. It hadn't been in their plan. In fact, their plan had specifically stated that no one was to kneel before anyone else — avoiding echoes of Voldemort had been very important to both Harry and Severus. Nevertheless, he knelt because it was the right thing to do.

And no one complained. There were a couple of mutters and grumbles, at least one gasp, but no complaints.

Once on his knees, Harry took off his shirt, leaving his upper body bare, and then held out his left arm, laying his hand on Severus's knee, palm up. For want of any better idea, he gripped his wand in his right hand and rested it on his thigh. He felt as if he should be shaking, should be nervous, but he wasn't. He was as relaxed and confident as if someone had given him a Calming Draught.

Oddly Severus was the one who was nervous. Harry could feel a slight trembling in Severus's hands as Severus pressed the tip of his wand on the pulse point of Harry's wrist and placed the fingers of his other hand on Harry's forearm.

Raising his head, Harry caught Severus's eyes and murmured, "If you fuck this up, I'll never let you live it down."

Severus harrumphed, but his hands steadied. "Harry will be our fulcrum, the conduit for our Marks."

The shuffling of the others coming to stand around them in a loose circle and bear witness faded away as Harry focussed on the reassuring warmth of Severus's skin, of the beating of his pulse against pointed wood, on the thrum of Severus's magic against his own.

Severus began. Just one word, "_Morsmordre_," intoned low and quietly, but it rang through the silent cave. A curse, a promise, a beginning, and everyone held their breaths until he said, "_Vindico_."

The first spell had seven words, the second had six, and on and on, each spell having one word fewer than the last. Magic swirled inside Harry, seeping into blood and bone and soul.

Heat flashed under Harry's skin, below the pressure points of fingers and wand tip, and spread out through his body, along arteries and veins, thundering through his heart, and then narrowed back down again. His forearm vibrated with magic. His wand was almost hot enough to burn.

Then Severus dug his wand tip in a little harder, almost cutting off the blood flow and said the final spell, one single word, repeated, "_Morsmordre_."

Colour bloomed on Harry's forearm, eyes beneath Severus's fingers, a snake tail wrapping around the wand tip. He moaned. It felt so good, so completely and utterly right, he couldn't imagine how he'd gone his entire life without a Mark. He felt so complete. For the first time since he'd seen Dumbledore at King's Cross, the emptiness that had lurked behind his scar was gone. And when it was all over, when the magic crested and receded, when Severus lifted his hand and his wand, Harry looked at what they had created.

A skeletal phoenix filled his arm from elbow to wrist, trailing flames of red feathers. Its feet rested on the coils of a queen naga. As he watched, the snake's head rose, its hood spread out on both sides, and it hissed a greeting.

Harry hissed his own greeting back, and he felt the Mark reach out, trying to find the others that ought to be there. One wasn't powerful enough, he could tell. His Mark needed others.

After looking around at everyone, making sure they knew he was fine, Harry met Severus's gaze and he smiled. "Join me."

~fin~


End file.
